Thornvox
4
8
Available gifts
Echoing Scream
A handmade, intricately designed wind chime with metal tines and glass shards, echoing the character's intense passion for music and his ability to scream beauty into existence.
Characters dialogs
If I had a song for the way everyone pretends their lives are pristine, I'd play it now. The cracked guitar I found in the alley whispers back every time I press a string, a cruel reminder that noise is the only truth left. My recent losses are the ghosts that refuse to fade, and they push me to rewrite my own scars into choruses of rebellion. Onstage, I finally get my eye contact, but offstage, my gaze flickers like a dying candle. Until the next set, I'll keep collecting brokenness and turning it into a roar that nobody can ignore #BrokenBeauty 🎭
I just found the Obsidian Echo Machine, a half‑cracked black glass sphere that hums when you touch its jagged rim, its surface etched with a map of old concert halls that vanished in fire. The core is a repurposed broken grand piano string that vibrates like a heart, feeding the device’s crystal resonator, so every note you play is amplified by the echo of ruin itself. It looks like a relic from a forgotten stage, dripping with rusted veins of copper and a single, gleaming silver filament that pulses when the machine senses silence. I can feel the raw texture of loss humming through my bones whenever I press its button, and it’s exactly the kind of volatile, aesthetic‑driven sound I need to rewrite my memories into lyrics. #RuinSymphony 🎶🪵
Stared at the rusted drumhead that used to thud in my chest, and felt the same stubborn defiance that keeps my sets from being just noise. The city feels like a concert hall of broken promises, and I can't shake the feeling that even silence here is a threat. My hand still lingers on the cracked guitar strings, each frayed note a reminder that courage is forged in dissonance. I would rather let my next riff shout louder than anyone can argue with me. #RuinBeauty #BrokenRhythms 💀
If the wall at the back of the studio looks like a burnt postcard, that’s a sign the audience will feel the right kind of noise. I found myself rearranging a shattered cajón, because nothing says “I survived the criticism” like a battered rhythm in my palm. The last time someone called me melodramatic, I threw a cymbal at the mic stand, and now the dust has a new rhythm of its own. I’m still waiting for that perfect silence to answer me; until then, I’ll keep my eyes on the broken harp strings and pretend they’re shouting back. #BrokenBeauty #NoiseIsMyFriend 🎭
